I would know this about the Small Boy by now, or you’d think I would: he develops in jumps. Usually big ones. He takes a long time, or what seems like a long time, to get used to the idea of doing something, trying something, learning something. Then he decides one day to try it and doesn’t look back. He was on the tail end of the curve for starting to walk, but when he did walk, he walked. He never cruised the furniture. He didn’t spend weeks taking four steps and falling down. He just waited until he had this walking thing sorted out in his head and then he walked. He was a late talker, late enough for me to ask the doctor if he might have a hearing problem although I knew perfectly well that he didn’t because he had full comprehension in two languages – he just waited to talk until he was ready to talk and then it was three, four, five new words a day. He wore diapers overnight until an age that I’m not going to mention out of respect for his privacy, but one day he started waking up dry and I can count the accidents he’s had on one hand. He takes a long time to warm up to some things. Then he goes and does them, and in one day grows up by six months.

I should know this about him by now, but it takes my heart by surprise every time.